


Nights Like These

by ds9trekkie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Boys Kissing, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Destiel - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, M/M, Making Love, Minor Original Character(s), One Shot, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Samulet, Scent Kink, Smut, Spit As Lube, Suicide Attempt, Switching, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ds9trekkie/pseuds/ds9trekkie
Summary: Aaaaannnnd it’s another endverse fic!Some nights Dean will make his way to Castiel's cabin. The problem is, Castiel never knows which Dean is walking through the door. In the end, it doesn't matter because Castiel loves any and all versions of Dean Winchester.





	Nights Like These

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayward_Daughter_16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Daughter_16/gifts).



> Warning: mentioned attempted suicide and current suicidal thoughts. This fic is really sad and angsty and I'm sorry. Also, I made Cas like a super drug addict lol probably more than the canon. Enjoy the pain!

There's two naked bodies on either side of him, both women, both unimportant. At some point in the past, before things got out of control, Castiel learned their names. Now he pretends not to remember them. It hurts a little less if the people he drowns himself in aren't real people with real names. Just bodies, one blonde, one red head.

The fuzzy cushion of drug induced pleasantness that frequently surrounds his brain is fading fast. Castiel shifts uncomfortably, heaving one of the girls off his chest to reach for the nightstand.

Lighting up what's left of the tiny butt, Castiel takes a long drag, allowing the smoke to poisonously fill his lungs. He doesn't particularly like smoking, it still burns every time, like his body doesn't want to get used to it.

He does it anyway.

In the beginning he used to pop pills, wasting valuable medicine for those in need. Castiel justified his thievery because it's the _end_ , everyone is sentenced to die anyway. Medicine only prolongs the inevitable.

Castiel finally overdosed one day, his death singing to him, urging the ex-angel to cross the finish line and be done with this cruel, unrefined world. But Dean wasn't ready to let Castiel go yet. 

Dean. The sole reason Castiel does anything. The reason Castiel chooses to live, the reason he desperately wants to die, the reason he continues to sacrifice a little more of his already tattered soul each day. 

All for Dean.

Dean Winchester, hardened and cold, but deep down still Dean. The hunter forced the life back into Castiel's broken body, along with the help of some makeshift 'doctors'. Tears running down his face, Dean roared in anger when Castiel reopened his unwilling eyes. He's not _allowed_ to die, not yet. Not until Dean says so. And Castiel can't wait, he can't wait to give even that final act to Dean.

A worthy death.

So he smokes, killing himself slowly. Castiel can bear a bit of discomfort in his throat, so long as the promise of escaping reality is his short term reward.

Taking another hit, Castiel stamps out the tip. He yawns and moves to lay back down with his guests. Blondie reaches down sleepily to play with his soft cock. The combined feeling of his brain entering bliss mode, plus the petite hand stroking him to full hardness has Castiel smiling, feeling good.

His alertness is infectious, the other girl--he'll call her Red--wakes up too and begins nibbling lazily on his neck, grinding her cunt onto his upper thigh. Castiel can feel her wetness from before, from when he fucked her raw.

"Get out," interrupts them.

It's Dean's voice, Castiel doesn't even have to bother looking. The girls stop gyrating immediately and Blondie sighs dramatically, doing nothing to hide her annoyance. 

"Fuck you, Winchester," Red spits, extracting herself from Castiel as she gathers up her clothes from the floor. 

"Forgive him, he's usually only this rude to _everyone,"_ Castiel says, his voice full of sass. "It's one of the rare privileges that comes with being our fearless leader."

Castiel is smiling smugly as he sits up and stares at Dean, the blankets rumpled so his naked body isn't covered in the slightest. Dean doesn't even glance at his cock, determined to hold Castiel's eye contact.

Dean is seething. At the moment, Castiel doesn't know or care why, maybe he's jealous, maybe he's drunk, maybe he's angry at the shit situation their lives have become.

Maybe it's all of the above.

Blondie and Red murmur their goodbyes to Castiel and exit quickly. Red purposely bumps into Dean's shoulder aggressively as she passes him in the doorway.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel breaks the silence, still grinning.

Castiel studies the hunter as if through foggy lenses. Head to toes, he can still see how unimaginably beautiful Dean is. Castiel hates being _this_ in love with something. It's a curse, one that he used to call a gift. Whatever Dean wants right now, Castiel is sure to give it to him, without question, without thought.

"Cas."

Castiel shivers at the tone of Dean's voice, his fragile wall of sarcasm and attitude fading fast. Dean kicks off his shoes and surges forward, toppling onto Castiel frantically. He kisses, well more like devours, Castiel's drug tainted lips with animalistic urgency. 

So it's going to be one of _these_ nights. All grabby hands, sloppy mouths, and the lewd slapping of skin on skin. Flith, not love.

Dean isn't patient, prepping Castiel hurriedly with spit and three meaty fingers. However, Castiel is into it, moaning and telling Dean he's ready when he's not.

Ass up, with his face smushed into the permanently come-stained sheets, Castiel gasps when Dean enters him fully clothed from behind.

"Fuck, angel, take my cock so good..." Dean grunts, fucking him with long, rough thrusts. Castiel abhors that particular pet name now, but he doesn't bother reminding Dean.

Castiel never used to talk back, especially when they fucked like this. But now life's just a game, so why not play along. "Yeah, Dean, fuck my ass, c'mon, harder!"

Dean's grip on Castiel's hips is becoming borderline painful, his pace punishing and unrelenting. Castiel is already anticipating the symmetrical bruises and delightful ache in his core that will be the only thing remaining after Dean leaves him tonight. 

"Whore...got such a good hole, Cas," Dean pants.

It feels good, despite the nominal pain and the fact that the passion is gone. It's sterile and mechanical, like Dean is fixing an engine rather than pleasuring a lover. Castiel's orgasm builds regardlessly, boiling deep in his gut. It's true, he's become a whore.

Suddenly, Castiel is screaming and coming, his pulverized hole clenching around Dean's length. It gives Dean the push he needs to spill his own release into Castiel with a low groan. Dean never uses a condom with Cas.

Castiel almost sobs, because Dean's pulling out of him way too fast. Collapsing forward onto the puddle of his own come, Castiel curls himself into a ball and lays on his left side. He faces the array of drugs on the end table, wishing he had the energy to light up. Although his expression is blank, Castiel finds himself pathetically wishing that the hollow, empty feeling inside him was solely physical.

Castiel used to ask Dean to stay, beg even, but on nights like these, Castiel has learned it's a futile attempt. 

Some nights, after Dean's cock is all tucked away, he'll lean down to kiss Castiel's sweaty forehead, lips lingering a little longer than necessary to soak up his taste. But no, Castiel doesn't even get that tonight. Tonight, without a single word or gesture of comfort, Dean's trudging out the door, away from Cas and the loveless crime they just committed.

Castiel needs nights like these.

~

Castiel is uncharacteristically clean, in more way than one. His dark, unruly hair is shining dewy from the bath he just indulged in and his insides aren't stewing in toxins. Well, mostly.

His tolerance has grown to a point that would be considered impressive if it were any other topic. Most of the time he doesn't even feel high anymore, he just feels...ironically human. Consuming just enough to get by.

He's coasting.

Castiel slips on a pair of minimally torn cotton pants and one of Dean's old flannels. Blue and gray and worn by the hunter only a few days ago. Dean leaves them here sometimes, either by accident or on purpose. It doesn't matter, Castiel obsessively hoards them. He loves sleeping in them.

Leaving it unbuttoned, Castiel plops down onto the bed and revels in the warmth the soft shirt provides. 

The door bursts open loudly and although Castiel's reaction speed is somewhat poor, he knows who it is. Nobody else seeks him out past midnight.

"Cas..."

Castiel's stomach drops, Dean's been crying. The hunter is turned away from him, fumbling hands locking the door with great difficulty. Selfishly, Castiel panics, knowing he's not numb enough for this. He makes the snap decision to smoke more, because handling weepy Dean somewhat sober isn't at all Castiel's idea of fun.

"Dean, come," Castiel says automatically as he hastily snatches up a joint and lighter from the top drawer.

Dean staggers towards him, swaying this way and that, unable to walk a straight path. He's hammered. Again, selfishly, Castiel wishes Dean was 'angry drunk', coming here to fuck his brains out. That's easier. Easier than watching the man he loves crumble and fall apart.

"No!" Dean hollers, smacking the contents out of Castiel's hands and crawling clumsily onto his lap. "Please don't, Cas, not tonight."

Castiel wants to respond that tonight of all nights he _must._ That he's a coward and can't deal with the severity of things to come. But denying Dean has never been one of strong suits, so without argument, Castiel stows the drugs back into the drawer. 

Sporting puffy eyes and quivery lips, Dean whispers, "I hate when you smoke, messes with your eyes."

Castiel leans back against the headboard and places his hands on Dean's waist, "Well, I hate when you drink cheap whiskey, messes with your...scent." He almost laughs when he says it, but it's too truthful. Castiel despises anything that masks Dean's aroma, especially something so harsh as alcohol.

Dean smiles vacantly, his palms resting on Castiel's bare chest when he slurs, "S'that why you're wearing my shirt? Like the way I smell, Cas?"

Castiel blushes, yet replies confidently, "Yes." Long gone are the days where Castiel tries to hide how Dean affects him.

Castiel lowers his attention to the object around Dean's neck. He's wearing the amulet Sam gave to him. Over the years, Castiel has observed how Dean gradually stopped wearing it. He would tear it off in anger and then sling it back on out of guilt. Until the one time he didn't. 

Nights like these are always about Sam. Dean wears the physical embodiment of his brother's love to try and feel whole again. Sam completes Dean, therefore losing him is essentially losing half of himself. 

The anguish that infects Dean's soul grows like cancer, rapid and incurable. Castiel wishes he could take the pain away, bring Sam back to him and make things right. But he can't, Castiel isn't the cure, he's just the chemo. 

Castiel ghosts his fingertips over the small piece of brass, throwing Dean a sad look. Dean is struggling visibly, like he doesn't know how to ask for what he wants.

He decides to kiss Castiel in order to avoid the hardship of words. The kiss is awful, because the moment they make contact more silent tears are cascading down Dean's face. "Cas, let's make love, like we used to..."

Castiel wants to tell him that they can never make love again. That whatever they end up doing tonight would _never_ be considered making love. 

"Please," Dean begs, head lolling forward onto Castiel's shoulder. "Love you..."

Castiel feels sick.

_Anything but that..._

"Dean, please," Castiel attempts, pushing him away. 

Dean holds strong, clinging to Castiel determinedly, "Why don't you ever say it back? I know you love" --hiccup-- "me, Cas...I know you do." 

Castiel is too defeated to explain himself. Again. There's no reason to tell Dean that he's told him he loves him a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Dean won't remember, this time is no different. Sober or drunk, Dean's memories of those instances are professionally tampered with for his own self preservation.

Castiel's a fool. He should send Dean away, make him drink water and go to sleep. But instead, he gets caught up in a blur of action as their clothes are discarded, all but that damn amulet. It should be disturbing, but Castiel is beyond that. 

Still sitting in Castiel's lap, Dean guides Castiel's fingers into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly with his warm saliva. Watching and feeling Dean suck on his fingers has Castiel hardening in no time. 

"Wanna ride you," Dean mumbles with his mouth full and eyes closed. 

Castiel extracts his saturated fingers and lowers them to slide between Dean's crack. He circles around the tight rim, eventually dipping inside and causing Dean to moan.

Castiel opens Dean up slowly, his hole blooming as it loosens. Dean refuses to look at Castiel, eyes flickering anywhere else in the room. He begins to rise and fall, stretching himself further on Castiel's slender fingers. "Now, Cas, need you now..."

They shift so Castiel can fully remove his pants from around his ankles, but before he can get comfortable again Dean's mouth is on him. Castiel stops breathing, the wet inferno that has suddenly engulfed his cock has him stuttering, "D-Dean."

Castiel pets him, mindlessly grounding himself the only way he knows how. He randomly thinks Dean needs a hair cut, the short bristles much longer than usual. Castiel realizes he likes it a little bit longer, his fingers naturally curling closed to grab a decent sized chunk.

Dean hums and drools when Castiel aids him in bobbing his head up and down. Castiel should feel guilty, he should cringe at the desperate, messy way Dean is throwing himself at him. But he can't feel that anymore, all he can feel is Dean, here and now, pleasuring him with every ounce of effort he has left. It's so easy to forget, to _indulge._

They reposition and Castiel's cock enters Dean's shaking, sweaty body with excruciating slowness. The whole time Castiel remains mesmerized with Dean's appearance. He's so beautiful. Swollen lips and burning, red cheeks smattered with freckles. Castiel doesn't dare blink. Once bottomed out, Dean sighs and begins to rise just as slowly, restarting the process. 

War has altered Dean's chest with new scars and inflated muscles. Castiel wishes he could erase the blemishes on Dean's sun-kissed skin like he used to, instead of just gawking at him sadly. 

Although his speed is picking up and his pleasure is becoming obvious, Dean's still not looking at Castiel. Castiel grows frustrated and grips onto Dean's hips, helping him along, thrusting upwards every time Dean slams down. 

"Cas, please," Dean whines, gaining leverage by holding onto Castiel's shoulders. "Need more..."

His patience is all out. Castiel rockets forward, landing Dean on his back. Castiel begins fucking him with vigor, hard and fast, but precise. 

"This what you need Dean?" Castiel's voice is still sweet, purposely avoiding crossing the threshold of violence. "Want me to tell you that I love you?"

Dean just moans in response, an answer Castiel expected. "Well, I do, Dean. I love you more than anyone's ever loved anything...look at me."

Dean does.

The whites of his eyes are clouded with pink, another round of tears spilling out the corners. Dean can't speak, he can barely breathe. He's on overload and Castiel knows he's hitting his prostate with every other drag of his cock. 

Castiel takes pity, closing his hand around Dean's aching length, stroking him evenly. "Come, Dean."

Dean sobs, fingernails scraping across Castiel's back in an effort to stay linked with reality. Castiel groans when he feels the wetness of Dean's release coat his hand. Chasing his own orgasm, Castiel looses it, pumping Dean's tight channel full.

Castiel kisses Dean as he pulls out, an attempt to distract him. Dean winces and protests regardlessly at the absence of Castiel inside him. "You're okay," Castiel lies soothingly, as he cleans his hand on the sheets.

They lay next to one another for a while, both staring at the ceiling. Their breathing regulates and the temperature in the room seems to decrease. For one brief second of lunacy, Castiel thinks Dean might stay, or maybe talk with him. But Dean sets him straight. Rolling off the bed, he gathers his clothing in shameful silence, his movements clumsy.

Castiel's angry, angry that he wore his heart on his sleeve, gave Dean exactly what he needed and got nothing in return. Anger turns into all encompassing sadness much too fast. The door clicks shut and Castiel lets the tears fall. Reaching for the nightstand, he fumbles with what to use. Once the decision's been made and the buzz sets in, he retrieves Dean's flannel from the floor. He slips it on and takes a deep breath, waiting for sleep.

Castiel hates nights like these.

~

There's a knock on his cabin door, it feels far away and distorted. Castiel is tripping _balls_ right now.

Earlier, he needed a bigger fix than usual because coping with stress isn't something Castiel is equipped for anymore. Maybe once, as a proper angel, but not now. Now he's weak and scared and anxious, self medicating himself through experimentation and careless risks. For a brief while, it looked as if Castiel was improving. That maybe he wouldn't die an addict, but old habits have a tendency to come back with a vengeance.

There had been a mission today, one that, not uncommonly, almost went bad. Killing Croats and scavenging for food is challenging and exhausting work. It requires immense focus, which means Castiel is expected to stay relatively sober. 

He almost had to watch Dean die today. Useless, Castiel would not have been able to heal him, or bring him back. All the ex-angel has now is a gun, a meaningless defense compared to his Grace.

Castiel produces a delayed sort of yelp at the sound of more knocking, finally shuffling across the room to answer it. At the last second he decides to look down to make sure he's dressed.

He is.

It's Dean, looking warm and inviting. Castiel doesn't wait, hauling the hunter in to his smoke filled den. Castiel hugs the other man, his own arms feeling heavy like logs as he hooks them around Dean's neck. He silently hopes Dean will allow this and not push him away.

"Dammit, Cas, it reeks in here," Dean complains, his breath hot on Castiel's neck.

Some of the tension leaves Dean's body as he relaxes against Castiel. They stand there for a while, until Castiel begins to sway and sag, sinking slowly towards the floor and pulling Dean along with him.

"Woah, c'mere," Dean grumbles, guiding Castiel towards the bed. The sound of Dean's voice feels like a slow motion train rattling through one ear and out the other.

Although Dean places him gently onto the mattress, it feels like Castiel is hurdling a million miles an hour towards an endless pit. When he lands on his back, the world is soft and scorching, like a blanket of death. There must have been something fucking insane in the pot he smoked. He doesn't remember where he got this last batch.

Dean lays next to him quietly, watching Castiel. When Castiel turns to face him, he can't see straight or focus. He desperately wants to cry like a child, because more than anything in the world he wishes he could be unhigh for a moment, he needs Dean's _eyes._

Castiel internally soothes himself with the thought that Dean is sweet tonight. Tonight, he's Castiel's best friend.

He must have dozed off, because when he opens his eyes it's to an empty bed and the smell of something cooking. Castiel feels a little more normal, able to somewhat function again.

He looks around for Dean, finding him sitting at the little wooden table in the corner. "Dean?"

Dean forces a smile, "Took your clothes to be washed and made us some food...beans again."

Castiel frowns, "You didn't have to do that." 

Always the leader, the big brother, the caretaker, Dean doesn't know how to _stop._ Castiel's stomach drops when he realizes he's become part of that burden, become just another thing for Dean to look after and protect. 

"I know."

Castiel blinks back tears and walks over to the stove, the least he can do is serve them. Making two plates, Castiel sits opposite Dean, sliding his dish towards him. They eat in silence for about ten minutes. So many important things left unsaid, so many things that at this point will never be addressed.

Dean's next words cut sharply through the tenuous air, "Can I stay tonight?"

Castiel tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry. "Of course."

Dean doesn't reply, instead he busies himself with cleaning up the plates, rinsing them in the sink. Castiel can count on one hand the number of times Dean has stayed the entire night with him. Each one of them random and far between.

Dean strides back over to Castiel, stopping right in front of him. He bends down to kiss Castiel's chapped lips, chaste and lovingly. Whimpering, Castiel's eyes droop shut as he feels Dean cup both sides of his face. Dean places kiss after kiss onto him, slow and repetitive, no tongue, nothing dirty.

Everything comes flooding back in a rush of raw emotion. Castiel remembers why he fell for this man, why he's become blindly loyal to him, why he stays with him to fight in a hopeless war, why he _loves_ him. 

It's not that Castiel ever truly forgets, it's just that it's hard to not get caught up in all the bullshit. The violence, the suffering, the tough decisions, the death, all weighing heavily upon their minds. The Earth has become tarnished with a stench of despair that can never be reversed. Mother nature's agony is constant, and she's not dying easily. 

Therefore, these rare glimmers of happiness deserve to be cherished. Proof that Dean is still capable of this level of tenderness in an environment that has none, resuscitates Castiel. It makes the dullness shrouding his aura feel colorful again. Even if it is only for a moment.

Pulling away, Dean takes Castiel's hand and heads for the bed. Sharing a pillow, the two broken men face each other, their toes just barely touching. Castiel doesn't mind that the mattress is worn and uncomfortable, tonight it feels perfect. He doesn't even think to reach for the night stand, not requiring anything to aid himself into slumber tonight.

Castiel breathes deep and even, he finally has Dean's eyes. Bright and green, Castiel gets lost. However, he cannot ignore the speck of darkness that has nothing to do with lust or lack of light. Castiel hopes he doesn't live long enough to see that darkness eclipse over the green completely. He wonders if Dean is thinking the same exact thing looking back at him.

They don't sleep at first, talking about literally nothing. Castiel enjoys rambling on and on with Dean, he usually learns something and he almost always laughs at least once. Dean's charm reignites the unused muscles in his face as he produces a genuine smile.

Dean scoots closer, wrapping Castiel snugly inside his arms, chest to chest. His leg hooks possessively around Castiel's hip, bringing them even closer. Castiel tucks his face into the crevice of Dean's neck, sniffing him unashamedly. Dean smells amazing as always, even unshowered and covered in grime. The intimacy from being joined like this will never compare to having sex, Castiel would pick this every time.

Castiel loves nights like these.


End file.
